Tuesday 12th September
P laying truant by leaving Ekaterini to clear up after lunch only added to Zina’s excitement. She had warned her cook that she had a surprise for Lambros, and the moment her mother collected Susan and Ellen for another family-finding mission across the island, it was time to act. This afternoon was her very last chance; the long-awaited pistachio harvest would start tomorrow, and then her chances of getting her husband’s attention were practically nil.
Ever since their conversation on the terrace on Sunday night, Zina had become increasingly determined to make it up to Lambros. He’d seemed so sad about the lost opportunity of their afternoon and it had touched her heart deeply. Now she was going to put it right by recreating the broken moment, but with all the added romance she could muster. In the cool bag over her shoulder was a half bottle of real champagne and she was wearing her best black silk undies– the ones Lambros had bought her. The soft fabric next to her skin sent a thrill of anticipation through her.
Now all she had to do was find Lambros, but normally his first stop after lunch was to check on the goats and she reckoned he’d still be there. Oh, they were going to have just the best afternoon together, reconnecting in every way imaginable. They needed it so badly, and having arranged for her mother to be out for a few hours, Zina was determined to make the most of their privacy.
Even from halfway down the track she could see Lambros wasn’t at the goat pen, but then she caught sight of him rounding the side of the farmhouse. Rather than head in her direction, he unlocked her father’s battered old truck which he used around the farm. She hailed him, waving.
They walked towards each other. “I’m just heading over to give Yiannis a hand,” Lambros said. “His ATV’s slipped down a ravine and he needs help hauling it out.”
She put her arms around his neck. “Don’t go now,” she breathed. “Go later. Mama’s out so I’ve taken a couple of hours off.”
He didn’t look at her, just continued looking over her shoulder. “I have to. I said I would.”
Zina stepped back. This couldn’t be happening. She’d planned it all so carefully. He couldn’t… just go. Not because of some ATV. “You’re not serious.”
“Yes, Zi, I am. Chrysto’s already on his way and he needs us both. I mean, if you’d said…”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.” Tears burnt the backs of her eyes.
“I’m really sorry. Any other time…”
But there wouldn’t be another time. Not for weeks. Weeks! “ Bástardos, bástardos man!” Zina stamped her foot. “We need this! We need time together.”
He closed his eyes briefly before raising them to the heavens. “I don’t disagree. Just not now.” He clenched his fist around his car keys. “I can’t stay now. Yiannis?—”
“Fuck Yiannis!” Zina screamed. “How dare you put your friends before me? You put everything before me and I’ve had enough.”
“You can talk, after Sunday.” Anger flashed in his eyes, darker and more dangerous than she had ever seen, but boy, was she angry too.
“I had to go. It was work.” Didn’t he get it?
“And I have to go now. Think of all the help Yiannis has given me. I can’t let him down.”
Oh, but he could let her down all right. “You put him first! You frigging well put him first! It’s never me. What about letting me down? Are you fed up with me already? Like you got fed up with your mountain bike, with your gym membership, even with your proper job?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know what I mean! One minute you’re all over something like a rash and then within about a millisecond, poof! You’re off to the next big thing. You’re unstable, Lambros, unstable. You’re like a frigging butterfly! I suppose I’m lucky I’ve lasted this long.”
“Zina—” Her name rasped from his throat.
“And now the farm. Everything’s the farm.” She pressed her face close to his, to make sure he understood. “I’ve given up my life for your sodding farm, and you can’t even give me one afternoon.”
He looked at the sky again, took a deep breath, then spoke slowly and deliberately. “There are clearly things we need to discuss if you’re so unhappy. I’ll be an hour, an hour and a half at most, then we can talk about this properly.”
“I don’t want to wait,” she wailed. “I don’t want your empty promises. I don’t want to spend my life cleaning toilets to prop up your bloody farm!”
His arms cartwheeled as he yelled at her. “Don’t try to tell me the retreat’s for my benefit. You just want to beat me, Zina. You want to rub my face in my failures and punish me for bringing you back here. Skatá! Why didn’t I see it before?”
“That is just so much crap, Lambros. Yes, you made me come here, but I did it for your frigging mental health. And this is the thanks I get. God, I wish I was back in Athens. But even that wouldn’t be far enough from you.”
She pushed past him and ran into the house, slamming doors behind her and throwing herself onto their bed, beating his pillows in rage. Outside, the engine started and wheels screamed in the dust. Good frigging riddance.
She pummelled and cried until her anger was spent, then rather shakily sat back on her knees. Silence. No radio. Nothing. The cool bag with the champagne was on the bedroom floor, and red-hot tears trickled down her cheeks. Her marriage was over. Perhaps not today, but this was the beginning of the end. Lambros had made his priorities crystal clear, and Zina wasn’t prepared to be at the bottom of anyone’s list. No frigging way, after all she’d done for him.
She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and stood up. If this was the end, she was going to make him pay. Make him hurt like she was hurting right now. Hell, yes, she was. She would shut him out like he’d done to her, and see how he liked it.
* * *
Standing in front of the mirror, Jo carefully reapplied her eyeliner with a shaky hand. An extra glass of wine after lunch had done her no good at all, except that she’d actually slept for a couple of hours. Then woke dry-mouthed with a thumping headache, which thankfully some painkillers and the longest of showers took the edge off, enabling her to function.
So now she was in the process of becoming Jessica. Eyeliner, then mascara, then concealer smudged over her shopping-bag-sized dark circles. Except to the group she wasn’t Jessica, she was Jo. Was Rees right? Had it been a mistake? No, he couldn’t be. She liked that they used her proper name. It was Rees’s fault she felt so vulnerable and exposed, and him messaging her three times a day to ask if she’d signed the mortgage papers didn’t help. He was wearing her out. Wearing her down. Chip, chip, chipping away, like her mum said.
Only if you let him. But she couldn’t help it. Oh, she’d been brave enough at the time, but his coming here had rammed it home that she’d never really be free. There might be battles she could win, but he held all the aces. She’d always be tied to him, because he knew. And he used what he knew. Don’t be a frigging drama queen. Her lipstick wobbled in her hand. But right now the walls were closing in around her, suffocating every possible spark of creativity and life.
Part of her wanted to agree to the remortgage to get rid of him. Another part, perhaps the bigger part, didn’t want to give him an easy win. She wanted to make him sweat, at least. Underneath everything, a flicker of anger remained, although she didn’t know how long she’d be able to hold out if he threatened her again. He didn’t even have to tell the world, just her mother. He’d been right about that at least; Mum would never forgive her for what she’d done, and Mum was the very best thing about her wretched life.
Her hand trembled as she picked up her blusher. FFS, Jo. She had ten minutes– ten minutes until this afternoon’s feedback session, with Karmela reading first. That, at least, was something to look forward to. Channel Karmela. Sensible, unflappable Karmela.
Voices from the stairs told her the group was assembling, so she picked up her notebook and crossed the landing, helping herself to a cola from the fridge before sitting down. Susan puffed and panted up the stairs, just back from her trip out with Panora, and Iain arrived last. Jo couldn’t look at him. How much had he heard? She hadn’t remembered the back window was open until he’d knocked on her door, and his terrace was right below it. He could know… well, not quite everything, but enough. More than enough.
“Right then.” Her voice sounded a little unlike her own. “It’s Karmela first. I know we’re all looking forward to our next trip to Ragusan Dubrovnik.”
Karmela shook her head. “I am taking you somewhere else today. It is a piece I have written about the city where I was born, and why I left it far too long to go back.” She cleared her throat, then her low, measured voice filled the room.
“My childhood ended the night we left Sarajevo for good, our car crammed with our most precious possessions and the necessities of life.
“For too many years I left my memories behind in the house where I grew up. Perhaps tucked in the drawer of my grandmother’s ornately carved hallstand, along with keys, stamps, loose change… Or maybe they were hidden beneath my bed, or between the pages of the books on the shelf, in the room where Emina, Nejla and I played with my doll’s house, then later wrote our stories, shared our hopes and dreams.
“From the first day at kindergarten we were constants in each other’s lives. A bond too precious for a child to understand, until it was broken. And then I was no longer a child.
“Sarajevo was our playground, a city of beauty, culture, harmony. All the things we took for granted until war ripped them away: tree-lined avenues, red and cream trams, the river icy from the mountains; domed roofs of the mosques cheek by jowl with the towers of the churches; bazaars and department stores; east meeting west, easy as breathing.
“Until it was not. The desperate anguish of home, friends, ripped away. Irreplaceable. The pain locked inside. The secret of it was my defence against the world– or so I thought for the longest time. Instead it became a slow, powerful poison, the poison of war. A war I had no right to grieve over, because my parents had run away.
“The war ripped out the heart of Sarajevo with its mortars, snipers and bombs. Emina was killed by a bomb, right at the end of the siege. I did not go back. I did not witness the city begin to heal. I did not heal myself. I closed myself off from the world and hid in another time.
“Secrets fester. They blight your life. Thirty years later I met two men whose sacrifices in that war made mine seem small. Yet they were not just living, they were truly alive. They were filled with love, and courage, and pain. So I borrowed some courage, and for the first time in years the word ‘Sarajevo’ crossed my lips, the names of my friends on an ocean of tears. And finally, finally, I went back.”
A stunned silence filled the room. Jo had stopped making notes just moments before, when a slow realisation had struck her. What Karmela’s piece was really about. Karmela knew. She knew . Iain must have told her.
Shit.
Susan took off her glasses and wiped a tear from her eye. “Oh my, Karmela. That is so… raw.”
Karmela nodded. “It is, yes. But every time I share my story, it becomes easier.”
Jo had to pull herself together. She had to move away from the personal and steer this back to the critique.
“That was beautifully written, Karmela, an excellent and engaging stream of consciousness.” God, her voice sounded prissy. “I think a little more detail in the descriptions of your childhood in Sarajevo would strengthen it. Maybe show the readers how you experienced the city with your friends, to build the link between the two ideas. What does everyone else think?”
“It is, perhaps, almost uncomfortably personal,” said Sophie. “But that is obviously just my reaction. Susan and I often find ourselves at different ends of the spectrum with this sort of thing.”
“Maybe it needed to be that intimate? Descriptions alone wouldn’t have pulled us in in quite the same way,” suggested Diana. “And I was pulled in, completely.”
The conversation was taking on a life of its own, with Karmela listening to their comments and scribbling notes on the paper from which she’d been reading. But Jo knew that she had no intention of rewriting or improving her piece in any way. Its job was done, because Jo had heard the message loud and clear. And that message made her want to run away and hide. Karmela knew what Rees had said, knew that Jo had a terrible secret. How could she look her in the eye again?
But Karmela was looking at her, and she was smiling. Perhaps, perhaps, she was reading this wrong. She was panicking again; thinking the worst. Could it be that Karmela had put her heart and soul onto the page and relived those painful memories because she cared? Now that she was thinking clearly, Jo knew that from everything she had seen of Karmela, that was the only explanation. Once again she found herself wondering whether, in Karmela, she might just have found a friend. A warm tingle of something close to strength ran through her, and finally, finally, she smiled back.
Around her, the discussion of Karmela’s piece was finally petering out.
Come on, Jo, get your head out of your arse and do your job. Diana was reading next and normally needed every encouragement.
“OK, everyone. Time to move on. Are you ready, Diana? Is there anything in particular you’d like our feedback on?”
* * *
It was late when Zina turned on the dishwasher for its final load, then checked the list for the cash and carry Ekaterini had left on the kitchen table. Karmela and Jo were still on the terrace, but she was far too wrung-out to feel sociable, and far too distracted by what she might find when she got home. On the other hand, they were her guests and she could not ignore them. Besides, a glass of wine would put off the evil moment a little longer.
Decision made, she took the bottle of Karmela’s favourite Aidani from the fridge. Outside, she heard Jo saying goodnight. A slightly slurred goodnight. She hadn’t seen her drink that much, but yesterday morning she’d noticed a bottle of wine peeking out from Jo’s swimming bag when she was cleaning her room. She’d told herself it was none of her business, that perhaps Jo had bought it as a gift, or prize, for one of the group. But now she doubted that was the case. Skatá! Much as she liked Jo, she couldn’t cope with her problems as well as her own.
Picking up a glass for herself, she took the Aidani outside.
“Do you fancy a top-up?” she asked Karmela.
“Just a tiny one, please, then I need my bed. But it will be nice to unwind. Today has been rather tense.”
Zina sat down next to her. “Do you mind me asking why?”
“Of course not. It’s Jo. I worry about her and her husband. To me, it seems like an abusive relationship and she has not been herself since his visit.” Zina wondered if she should mention the wine or not? But Karmela carried on. “Not that I have first-hand experience of this sort of thing myself, and I do not suppose you do either, Lambros being such a lovely man.”
Lovely? Selfish shit, more like. But what could Zina say? It seemed that everywhere lay conversational traps; nothing was safe. There was no way she could tell a guest how bad things were between her and her husband. She couldn’t tell anyone– the way he’d treated her this afternoon was far too humiliating. Tears smarted in her eyes again, angry tears. And worse, Karmela seemed to be waiting for an answer.
“I suppose some men do like to control their wives, but Lambros is not one of them.”
“And no woman should ever be controlled. No human being, come to that. In fact, the one time I have seen this before, it was the girlfriend doing the controlling. Jo needs to get out, but I have no idea how to even broach the subject.”
At least Zina could be truthful here. “Me neither.”
“Well if you do think of something…”
“Of course.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence, then Karmela tipped back her head, pointing upwards and beyond The Retreat House. “Look, is that Cassiopeia up there? The night sky here is wonderful. There is far too much light pollution at home.”
“When I was a little girl, Mama used to sit me on her lap on the terrace before bed and point out all the stars.” They sat for a moment, gazing at the pinpricks of light in the velvet blackness, then Zina drained her glass and stood. “Talking of Mama, if you don’t mind I’d like to get back in time to find out how she got on with Susan and Ellen this afternoon.”
Karmela smiled. “Given the conversation over supper it was a triumph but I will not spoil it for you. Goodnight, Zina.”
Walking down the track, Zina was not thinking about Mama at all but replaying the argument with Lambros over and over in her head. The way he hadn’t even considered staying with her for a moment. Not even one moment. It had been all about frigging Yiannis and she hadn’t come into it at all. Although her anger had faded in the hours since, replaced with unease about what he might say when she got home, now it was back with a vengeance.
And she had been oh so vengeful. She had known just the right button to push.
She’d done something similar in Athens years ago, although she couldn’t remember exactly why. She’d made up a bed for him on the sofa and he’d gone absolutely ballistic when he’d come home from a night out with the boys, so much so that they hadn’t made up for a whole twenty-four hours. Living with Mama, the best she’d been able to do was to place a wall of bolsters down the centre of the bed, and pin a note on his pillow with those cheap rose earrings he’d bought her, telling him to stick to his own side because she couldn’t bear to be anywhere near him.
She’d been so mad, and he’d hurt her so much, that her actions had felt entirely justified. Anyway, how else was she meant to get his attention when he’d sodded off? Now there was no way he could ignore how furious he’d made her. His choice this afternoon was symptomatic of everything wrong with their marriage. His choice. Not hers. So although she may have made the bed in a physical sense, metaphorically at least it was his to lie on. All the same, as she approached the kitchen door, Zina couldn’t help feeling just a little sick about what his response might be.
Mama was in the kitchen washing pans, the rich aroma of pastitsio emanating from the half-empty dish on the table. Automatically Zina picked up a tea towel.
“Haven’t you had enough of that at the retreat?”
“A few more won’t hurt. How did it go today with Susan and Ellen?”
Mama’s eyes shone in a way Zina hadn’t seen for a very long time.
“It was wonderful. We went back to Megalochori to see the elderly lady the café owner told us about on Sunday. She lived there before the earthquake and she was delightful, offering us coffee and baklavá on her terrace. She told us she’d married a village boy, and when the rebuilding started they’d come back to her parents’ old home. So I asked her if she remembered the Liatsou family and she did, and she thought they had gone to Kamari and stayed there.
“Of course, it’s a huge place now with the tourism, so as soon as we came back I phoned the papás , and he said yes, he knew them. He called me later to say he’d spoken to one of them who could even remember his father buying lottery tickets so he could visit his aunt in America. He was so excited to meet Susan and we’re heading over there tomorrow.”
Zina gave her mother a hug. “That sounds wonderful, and you are quite the sleuth.”
Mama laughed. “Not at all, but there is a new British detective drama I want to watch, and it starts in five minutes.”
“Off you go. I’ll finish here then go to bed.”
“Lambros has already turned in. He looked exhausted when he came back, poor man.”
Zina dried the last pot, then put it back on the shelf above the range.
Would he be asleep, or only pretending to be? Or awake and spoiling for another fight? Albeit a furiously whispered one so Mama wouldn’t hear.
But one thing was for sure: if he’d moved those bolsters she’d damn well put them back. For a couple of nights at least. Just to make sure he understood how very wrong he’d been.
But in the bedroom there was no sign of Lambros. Or his pillows. The bolsters were still in place, although the note was on her side now, her words scrawled over with an equally angry message. Coward! Frigging, frigging, coward. Red-hot anger burst through Zina again. If that was how he felt, why not stay and fight? God knows where he was sleeping, but she didn’t much care. She wouldn’t give in to him, she just wouldn’t. If this turned out to be their very last argument, it was all the more important to win it.